make it everything you need
by Licet
Summary: <html><head></head>"Eyes on the road, Godfrey." You smile, and angle the mirror so that you can see them better. Letha's wide smile, Shelly glowing and beautiful, Peter settling in for a nap, and your father watching the world go by outside his window. It's almost like they're really here and you hold onto the feeling, content to drive until the fantasy runs out.</html>


Make it everything you need

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><p>Prompt:<p>

**There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say hello. –-Richard Siken**

You are aware that this isn't normal**–**that this isn't what normal people _do_, but you're desperate. Because the house is full of ghosts and the servants flinch every time you walk by and you're tired of tiptoeing around everyone and keeping your eyes down.

You're not accustomed to this, to _shame_. You don't know how to handle it and you still haven't grown out of that little twitch that would usually signal to Peter to join you. You've learned to stifle it but that only makes it worse because now you're so focused on _not _focusing on him that he's all you can think of.

So you drive. The price of gas goes up again but you're _Roman-fucking-Godfrey_ so _fuck_ that and besides you **need** this. It's the only good-sane thing you have in your life right now and it makes you think of your father. Of Letha and Shelly. And Peter. But everything makes you think of Peter so...yeah. But really, the car gets you started on the multitude of people in your life, smarter than you, who had the foresight to get the fuck out of dodge. Because in the long run, a bullet, a car, childbirth or simple self-preservation, it is**–**all of it**–**better than being here. _**Cheers** _to the last man standing.

Which takes you back to the driving. Driving down that long stretch of highway with a mirror full of cocaine and you think maybe if you drive fast enough, something will happen. Someone will save you from yourself. Someone will put you out of your misery. Then again, all you _have_ is misery and if someone takes that away, you have nothing. Nothing but a baby you can't look at, in a room you avoid, and a mother who**–**even in her absence****–****is slowly turning you into everything you don't want to be. Shelly is gone. Peter is gone. Letha is gone. So driving really is the best thing for you.

But _**fuck**_, you hate driving alone because you never noticed before but now all it seems to do is highlight the silence. There's no Shelly, a quiet presence enjoying the wind and the freedom. There's no Letha letting her hair blow back with careless laughter. There's no Peter with that lazy smile, smoking and content to simply exist next to you. There's only you. You and the car and the road and the mirror.

So you pretend. You and the car and the highway and a mirror full of powdered dreams create a fantasy. You tilt your head up and in the corner of you eye pretend you see them back there. Letha and Shelly sitting side by side staring at something on Shelly's phone. Peter and your father in a low hum of conversation. That glint, that's a smile. You don't remember your father's smile so it must be Peter's. Peter smiled a lot, despite not having much to smile for.

It's all too much. Reality comes crashing in and you know they wouldn't fit back there and they probably wouldn't mesh that well. Letha and Shelly and Peter would be fine but your father…you don't know. You don't remember him much. You prefer it that way so you can make him into everything you're not. Everything you want to be. But enough of that, you're ruining the dream. Take another sniff and here it is: Letha's laughing and Shelly is glowing and Peter is here so everything's okay.

"Hello," you say, staring forward because this is the part where it always fails. You can see it so clearly, the way Peter will look up at you, sardonically mouthing _"hello"_ because who says that anymore? His brow is raised, blue eyes full of laughter and this is the part that stings. You always wait for the laugh to follow, but it never comes because it's not _**real**_. _They're not here._ Your dad is dead. Letha is dead. Shelly is missing and Peter is gone. You sigh, then shake your head to clear it. **Fuck**. Apparently you're building a tolerance so this time you take three lines, just to make sure.

You try again, _"Hey,"_ you say . And this time it's Letha rolling her eyes, _"Eyes on the road, Godfrey."_ You smile, and angle the mirror so that you can see them better. Letha's wide smile; Shelly, glowing and as beautiful as she always dreamed; Peter settling in for a nap; and your father, watching the world go by outside his window. It's almost like they're really _**here**_ and you hold onto that, content to drive until the fantasy runs out.

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><p>Author's Note:<p>

Not sure where this came from. I remember seeing Siken's quote and thinking, man, someone's gotta write this. Not sure how I did so feel free to comment. I've been on a long break from so comments and constructive criticism are very, very, welcome.


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